Cuyamaca Rancho

Sunday, Feb 23, 2003
Hike: Cuyamaca Peak (6 mi roundtrip)

Travelogue © 2003 Branislav L. Slantchev

I have just bought my new 2003 Volkswagen Jetta and no longer have excuses not to go anywhere during the weekend. So I decide to pick the closest navigable park and put some miles on my Vasque boots before we head off to Peru and I develop all those blisters from not having broken them in enough.

This weekend's destination is the absolutely unknown to me Cuyamaca Rancho state park. It's about 40 minutes east from San Diego, so it's acceptable. I am also hoping that it won't be another desert. I carefully prepare my sandwiches, pour water in the Platypus, swallow some cornflakes with milk, grab the hiking guide, and drive off.

The drive really lasts about 30 minutes and I turn off 8 East toward the park. First signs of bad luck are already visible: there's a long line of cars slowly snaking its way behind a super-slow trailer. Not only that, but there's trailers with horses! There's also people on horseback! I have wandered into the paved version of the Wild West. I tune the radio to the AM frequency for the park and relish the monotonous narrative which informs me that the park is neat, something one cannot tell from the approach. At least I learn how to pronounce the name. I also notice a discrepancy in the translation from whatever Indian dialect it's in. The radio claims it means "Lots of rain" (or something) but my guide says it means "No rain". It strikes me that the discrepancy is more than acadmic.

I eventually reach Paso Picacho campground, which seems to be the place to be if you want to hike any of the most interesting trails (there's about 100 miles worth of them in the park). I pay the $4 for the parking and the paper guide and they offer me a "detailed map" of the hikes for another dollar. I refuse: I didn't pay $12 for the guidebook to buy local too. This turns out to be my first mistake for the day. These guys know what they're doing.

I briefly scan the options and resolve to try the Cuyamaca Peak hike, which promises spectacular vistas of everything from Mexico to Canada. The problem is that I have no idea where the trailhead is. The guidebook says vaguely that it's in the southern part of the campground, and it does not appear on the free public map at the parking lot. Clutching my precious $1, I bravely head south trying to look like I know what I am doing.

Of course, I get lost. I pass by several bored campers and hear one of them torturing a cat. I turn around determined to save the poor beast from his greasy hands only to discover that he is apparently singing. I shudder and walk on. Finally I reach site 68 and, lo and behond, there's the trailhead, right among the trees. Refreshed and ready to go, I take a few steps forward and... end back on the paved road. What the hell?!

I look around, there's no mistake, the paved Fire Road. I curse and look back in the guidebook. Yep, it says so right there too: "a paved one-lane road". I should read the damn thing next time. Well, since I am already here, I decide to hike it anyway, thinking it is the second major mistake for the day. With every dog-walking camper that I meet, I become more irritated and less able to focus my camera on various uninteresting objects.

As I go further up, however, the number of people drops substantially. In fact, I see no one for about 20 minutes. The air is fresh and full of pine aroma. I close my eyes, ignore the sound of a jet booming over, and imagine I am one with nature. I almost have it when I feel something sniffing my legs. I look down, it a dog who apparently has no appreciation for the pine smell but does like whatever emanates from my Vasque boots. His owner is of course nearby, leashes the dog, and apologizes. I shrug it off and make a mental note to report the bastard to the park rangers.

I gradually become aware that my first mistake for the day is actually my second mistake. The first one was eating the cornflakes in the morning. Now, about 2 hours later, the organic milk from happy cows is finally getting to my lactose-intolerant stomach and making me less than happy. In fact, I am positively bloated, gaseous, and uncomfortable. Most of my time is spent trying to figure out whether I have the time to climb the peak and then go back to the camp before I am in desperate need of a toilet. (Having packed everything but toilet paper, I begin feeling unprepared against the elements.)

I regain speed but the ascent becomes steeper and I soon wonder how water-resistant my hat is. I also notice patches of snow here and there, which makes me nervous because I am wearing my classy shorts and nothing but a T-shirt on my back. Still, I preservere and am rewarded by improving views. At one point I can even see the lake through the trees. I pass an area scorched by fire and suddenly I am near the peak, the horizon opens up, and I am happy.

Following the last few turns takes me to the top, where I discover to my endless consternation a fire lookout, complete with antennae, ugly containers, unsightly structures, and what have you. At least there's no one there. I walk around, taking in majestic views of Santa Rosa and Laguna mountains, I even see the observatory on Mt. Palomar. A slight haze hangs over the landscape, and the low clouds hide Mexico from sight.

I climb down some rocks and sit down to enjoy the view when a loving couple shows up and invades the puny space I have reserved for myself. I scowl but they take it as a smile and helpfully wave back. I decide to ignore them hoping they'd go away. But no! They sit there like complete idiots, the girl going "Oh! It's beautiful!" (many, many times), and the guy going, "Yeah!" (also many times). Poetry.

I pull out an apple and begin making crunching noises, vigorously trying to spoil their enjoyment, and hoping that this will make them move. THIS turns out to be the third biggest mistake for the day when the guy observes that maybe they should eat something, obviosuly salivating from the sight and sound of the golden delicious in my hand/mouth. Oh, the indignity. It turns out their "something to eat" is an oversized bag of the crunchiest and noisiest chips I have ever heard of! They then go, "Mnyam, mnyam... oh, it's mnyam beautiful" and "Mnyam, myam, yeah!", at which point I abandon hope and leave for the other side of the peak.

The other side is, however, too close and I can still hear the munching. So I decide to head back and perhaps go on another hike, maybe Stonewall Peak or the reservoir (aka the lake). It took me almost 3 hours to climb the peak (1,600-foot elevation gain from the camp) but that included dealing with sniffing dogs and going through a roll of film. The way back takes less than an hour, and I am not even trying.

The closer I get to the camp, or, rather, the later in the afternoon it gets, the colder the air becomes. By the time I reach the toilets, I am all ready to sacrifice the guidebook in honor of the porcelain god, but it is saved in the end. Fifteen minutes later I emerge weighing about 2 kilos less but feeling no less bloated. I promise myself never to make any PMS jokes ever again.

I walk to the car, planning to grab a quick bite and then head toward Stonewall Peak. While I try to digest the decidedly inedible sandwiches I have prepared to punish myself, it gets cold. Really cold. I finish the last sandwich barely able to stuff it in my mouth because my trembling hands keep missing. With no extra clothes, I am helpless, the ones I have on have gotten positively frigid from the combination of sweat and wind. I curse my negligence. THIS turns out to be the biggest mistake for the day because I am forced to go back even though there're still at least 4 good hours of hiking and photography left.

On my way back, I re-analyze the partial fiasco. The 6,512-foot Cuyamaca Peak is definitely worth visiting even though the hike was uninspiring. Chalk up one point for the good guys. There were also several good occasions for good pictures (chalk another) which I wasted because I did not bring the tripod (one for the bad guys). The camp looked nice and was not overcrowded but there were too many people with dogs roaming the trails, even past the "No Dogs" signs. There also needs to be a "No Insensitive Morons" sign somewhere close to the peak, but that would cause visitation to drop to... well, me!

Overall, a nice place to spend the Sunday, Cuyamaca Park may be worth another visit soon. I never did figure out why they had all those signs warning about mountain lions. From what I understand, not one of the rangers has actually seen one. Hahahaha.

February 28, 2003